


Policy

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, light roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a plan to shake an annoying homophobic detective; Sam goes along with it a little too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Policy

 This was serious, this case was fed suits full time and scowls and no rock aliases, just Smith and Smith, no relation. Going on four hours and they've been holed up in some dusty old interrogation room that looks like it hasn't been used for decades with a detective who, Dean decides, looks like he hasn't had a case in the same amount of time. And he refuses to leave.

“Policy,” he keeps grumbling, every time Sam tries – gingerly – to tell him to leave, three or four times.

Dean just glares, mostly; this is the most inconvenient motherfucker they've had the displeasure of working with in a long time. They can't even talk about the case for reals with him in the room, have to keep tiptoeing around the fact that there's _probably_ a whole nest of vampires in some downtown loft while Detective Assface slurps his tenth coffee and waits for his next heart attack. He blames everything on _kids, punk kids and their grass and their bi-sexuality_ (Dean can hear the hyphen) _and those energy drinks_ for the thousandth time and Dean grits his teeth, stares darkly across the table at Sam.

Sam tries to get rid of him again but it goes the same as before, and he shrugs helplessly at Dean.

Well, he's had enough. More than enough. There's nothing else to do but _this_ , but whipping out his phone and texting Sam with, 'Come on to me.'

Sam reads it, rolls his eyes, mouths 'no' across the table.

'It'll make fuckface uncomfortable? Just do it.'

Sam frowns but Dean knows it's just indecision crossing his face, _knows_ he's won when the corners of Sam's mouth tug up and he loosens his tie. He gets up and keeps his eyes on Dean, walks slow around the table, _so_ goddamned slow that Dean's swallowing hard and suddenly dry-mouthed the way he always gets when Sam looks at him like that. And then he's pressing up behind Dean, looking over his shoulder and draping his arm around his back. He's so _hot_ , Dean feels it radiating through their thin dress shirts.

“How're you doing?” Sam asks, low, against Dean's ear. His hand wriggles straight down the back of Dean's pants, and Dean almost jumps, certainly yelps a little.

“F-fine,” he manages to stammer, didn't _mean_ to have it come out like that but every little bit helps. Especially since the detective goes wide-eyed and sliding his chair back. “Are you flirting with me, Agent Smith?” he asks, side-eyes the detective and fights to hold in his laughter because the look on the guy's face is _priceless_.

“No,” Sam growls, grabs a handful of Dean's shirt and tugs so Dean has to stand up, shuffling to his feet. “I'm gonna fuck you.” Sam kicks his chair away and presses up against Dean's back, easily folds him in half and Dean just manages to get his forearms under himself, head turning to watch their pest of a detective very quickly making for the door, probably faster than he's moved in years.

“Nice job, Sammy,” Dean grins as the door clicks shut, and they're alone, finally. He tries to wriggle free but Sam drapes himself over Dean's back, huffing against the back of his neck. Hot and big and Dean's completely pinned. “Uuh, mission accomplished, Sam?” Dean twists his neck around but Sam lays his big hand on Dean's head and presses him against all the scattered papers on the table.

“Said I was gonna fuck you, _Agent_.”

Dean goes nearly boneless against the table, biting down his needy, telltale groan. He doesn't argue.


End file.
